Do Not Go Gentle
by xxredwineandambiencexx
Summary: Sometimes, Jyn likes to press her cheek to his chest to hear his heartbeat. It's such a small thing, but it tells her that he's here, that they made it, that they're alive.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars, _obviously_**

* * *

 ** _Do not go gentle into that good night,_**

 ** _Rage, rage, against the dying of the light_**

 ** _Dylan Thomas_**

* * *

Sometimes, Jyn likes to press her cheek to his chest to hear his heartbeat. It's such a small thing, but it tells her that he's _here_ , that they made it, that they're alive.

The first time that she does it, bent over his splayed out body in the escape shuttle, he gives her an odd look that betrays the depths of what he's feeling. She sees unspoken questions in Cassian's dark gaze, questions that are on the tip of his tongue.

She has questions as well- what his gaze meant in that elevator, when they were plummeting back to ground level, certain they were going to die. Why his arms held her to him so tightly, why he let her press her face into the warm skin of his neck, gritty with debris and sand.

But he says nothing, simply cradles her head as she braces herself against his chest, ear pressed to the fabric of his jacket as his heart beat thrums in his chest.

She's pulled away soon enough once they land, Rebel doctors and bots propelling her towards a bed, giving her a thorough once over to check that she's okay, that she's not going to die on them after the trouble that they went through to extract them both from the surface of Scarif.

She sits patiently as the bots probe her and shine lights into her eyes and ask her questions, questions that she answers on autopilot.

The shock is starting to set in now, the numbness that comes with the realisation that she is going to fight another day, that this Rebellion isn't over for her, no matter what her motivations might have been before.

The loss of her father sits heavy in her chest, an ache that she just knows will never really go away, even with time.

They keep her in overnight to observe her, and she can hear Cassian breathing noisily from behind the privacy screens that separate his bed from hers. It's something that would normally annoy her, she used to spend sleepless nights staring up at the cinderblock roof above her cot, contemplating the most painful ways to kill her cellmate when she was in prison.

But now it's reassuring. A sign of life despite the blaster wound that Cassian had taken to the side. Despite the bot's muttering that it's a miracle that he's even alive, that he even managed to hold on for as long as he did until he could get proper medical attention.

Despite everything, despite the loss of life, the sun rises the next day. The light filters through the window of the infirmary, a strange glow painting the floor beneath her bed.

She holds her hands up to her face, bathed with gold.

It was something beautiful after so much loss.

* * *

They discharge her that morning, and they're probably glad to see the back of her as she shrugs into a rebellion supplied outfit of shirt, jacket, and pants. The black combat boots are a little loose and the fabric of the shirt scratches against her skin, but it's a small price to pay for her freedom and for her life.

The bots shoo her away from Cassian's bed when she tries to approach, going on and on about how he needs privacy and rest, and _peace and quiet._

"We will tell Captain Andor that you were asking for him."

No, don't. It's fine. I'll see him when he's discharged." She waves away the bot's, turning and walking out of the infirmary, plunging back into the hustle and bustle of the rebel base.

She tries not to flinch every time someone hails her or salutes her, or claps her on the shoulder like she's some kind of hero.

She's not a hero. Not when so many others died so that she could succeed.

There was nothing heroic about that.

She finds Bodhi in one of the hangars, tinkering with one of the X Wings. He's jittery, on edge, and she tries not to notice the way his hands are shaking when she takes a seat beside him on a shipping container.

Even though she's tried to make as much noise as possible, Bodhi still jumps, dark eyes darting towards her as he sucks in a startled breath.

They're like puzzles, pieces scattered and then put back together incomplete. There are pieces missing, pieces that were part of a whole before.

It's in the way Bodhi holds himself, a patchwork mess of nerves and emotion.

It's in the way she feels, darkness pushing at the edges of her mind, wondering if it was all worth it, if they can ever recover from the loss of life.

"Have you heard the news?" Bodhi asks her, studiously avoiding her gaze as he turns back to the mess of machine and circuitry before him, poking about with his wrench for a moment.

"No. What news?" She replies curiously as Bodhi shifts uneasily, glancing around the hangar. Whatever the news was, it couldn't be good. "Bodhi, what news?"

"It's the Princess Leia." Bodhi dips his voice low, dropping his wrench and cleaning his hands with a dirty rag sitting in his toolbox. "She's been captured."

"And the plans? Bodhi what happened to the plans?" She hisses under her breath as a pair of X Wing Pilots walk past them, curious glances thrown their way.

"They don't know."

* * *

She's scared to fall asleep. It's not an entirely unfamiliar fear, used to get the same feeling when she was in prison and just knew that her cellmate was itching to strangle her in her sleep.

But this is a different sort of fear. An illogical fear. Because she knows that there's a high likelihood that she will wake up in the morning (unless the Empire somehow discovers their base).

She knows that in this room alone, there's no one to do her any harm.

But still…

It's the dreams that haunt her, a cacophony of light and sound and chaos. The unrelenting singing of bullets fired from a gun, the dull boom of an explosion, orange fire ripening against a pale blue sky.

It's of her companions falling, one by one, by one.

Until it's just Cassian, hand outstretched, expression gentle as a tidal wave of debris hurdles towards her, towards _them._

Then there is nothing, nothing, nothing.

Nothing but black.

* * *

When she visits the hospital wing the next afternoon, the bots tell her that Cassian has been discharged, although they don't know where he's bunking.

She can hazard a guess, footsteps taking her on familiar twists and turns until she finds a corridor, tucked away from the constant buzz of the base. It's quiet, her footsteps echoing loudly against the concrete floor.

She raps twice on his door with her knuckles, wincing at the echoing thud it makes around the corridor. Leaning forward, she presses her ear to the door when she hears no answer.

She's pushing on the door handle and leaning her weight into the door before she can think twice about it.

Cassian is fast asleep, shirtless with the blankets pooled low around his hips, the steady rise and fall of his chest the only indication that he's alive.

He looks pale, dark hair falling messily into his forehead, and young, so young. So innocent.

She bends over quietly, unlacing her boots and lining them up neatly at the foot of his cot, wondering if she's actually going to do what she's thinking of doing.

She lifts the sheets, sliding onto the surface of the cot next to him, thanking the stars above that it's big enough for both of them.

Cassian stirs, and she presses her cheek into the warm skin of his chest, listening to steady and insistent thrumming of his heart beat. It's a comfort, and she closes her eyes with a gentle sigh as she feels his hand tangle with her hair.

"Am I alive?" He asks, voice low, melodious, amused.

"I think so." She responds with a small smile.

"You did that once before. On the escape shuttle." Cassian begins, but doesn't elaborate further, gentle fingers running over her hair again and again, lulling her into a peaceful moment of relaxation.

"I needed to hear it. Your heart beating."

Cassian says nothing, swallows audibly as he stares up at the ceiling.

They fall asleep like that, twisted up in each other, neither of them daring to say what they really need to say.

When she wakes the next morning, he's staring at her with so much love in his eyes, and she can't help but lean forward, pressing her lips against his.

Maybe _welcome home_ was in fact, the right sentiment.

* * *

 **AN: Basically written because I am trash for this pairing and I had so many _feelings_ after watching Rogue One.**


End file.
